


Sono a Casa

by GreenArcher



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Afterlife, Assassin's Creed: Revelations, Death from Old Age, Extended Scene, Gen, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6750316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenArcher/pseuds/GreenArcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio sees his family one last time before he dies. Small expansion of the final scene of AC:Embers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sono a Casa

Ezio is growing old. He can feel it in his bones, in the aches and pains that keep him up at night. He can feel it when he coughs, a dry sort of hacking that leaves his head light and his chest burning. He knows that his days are numbered. He knows he doesn’t have much longer to live.

And he is sorry he does not have more time. He’s sorry for his wife, Sofia. In all his years as an Assassin, he’s never met a woman quite as remarkable or admirable as her. Finding her in Constantinople was like finding a warm fire after years of travelling through icy wind and snow. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t marvel at how fortunate he was to meet her so late in life, or how grateful he was that she agreed to marry him and bear his children. Not many women could shoulder all the burdens he’s been through, yet she has. And he loves her all the more for it.

But for all the years they’ve been together, she only knows a fragment of who he really is. There are so many things he hasn’t told her, about his past, his family. As days pass and his health worsens, he fears will not live long enough to tell her everything.

And that is why he started the letters between minding the farm and raising Flavia and Marcello. So that one day, she would read them and understand. The man he once was and the man he had come to be.

* * *

The journey to Firenze is long and tiring in the scorching summer heat. By the time Ezio arrives in the city with Sofia and Flavia, his cough is worse than ever. He begrudgingly allows his wife to support him as they enter the square, lined with several stalls selling goods for the upcoming _Carnivale._

“You should have stayed home,” Sofia scolds him as she sets him down a stone bench.

“I am home,” Ezio replies.

Her expression softens a fraction and she pecks him lightly on the cheek. “We will be right over here,” she tells him.

She takes Flavia’s hand, and the two of them leave to look at the stalls in the square. Ezio reclines in his seat, enjoying the peaceful summer air and the chattering of the surrounding citizens and merchants. There was time when he would give anything to leave this city to see the world. Now it is his entire world, and there is no place he’d rather be.

Until, a voice comes to disturb the peace.

 _“Ah diavolo,_ I hate this damn city!” the boy groans beside him. “I wish I was in Roma. I hear the women are like mmm…ripe grapes on the vine. No…not like here. Firenze!”

Ezio turns to the boy and gives him a disdainful look. “I don’t think Firenze is your problem,” he replies coldly.

_“Prego?”_

The boy grabs Ezio’s hand sharply. The Assassin tries to pull away, but the boy’s grip is as tight as a vice. He takes a good look at his face and realizes how young he really is. No older than seventeen, the boy has a long scar covering the side of his face. Whether it came from a street brawl or an innocent accident, Ezio can only speculate.

Then, he hears it. A voice from another life. His brother, Federico, speaking to him from the grave. _“You must help him! That pretty face is his only asset.”_

His eyes widen in disbelief. The boy nods at him as though he can read his thoughts, but how? He offers him no explanations. Only two words.

_“Coraggio, vecchio.”_

And then he is gone. And now Ezio is coughing so hard, he can no longer breathe. He feels the hand of death upon him, almost too quickly. But he is not afraid. When he remembers all the targets he’s stayed with in their last moments, filled with regret for their wrongdoings, he can’t imagine going out any other way. Sofia was a strong woman. She would make it on her own. Flavia and Marcello were only children. But once they were older, they would read their father's letters and understand his story. Everything would be taken care of in time.

The last thing Ezio sees is his daughter, throwing a smile back at him from a booth on the other side of the square. And then she is not Flavia at all, but his long dead brother, Petruccio.

“Big brother!” he exclaims, running to Ezio.

He isn't alone. Several people are now approaching the bench: Maria, Mario, Federico, Leonardo, all alive and whole and exactly as he remembered them years ago.

The last to appear to him is a man with shoulder-length hair brown hair and a yellow tunic, many decades out of fashion.

“Ezio,” Giovanni says, looking down at his son fondly.

Ezio is speechless. “Father.”

He extends his hand down to Ezio, and the old Assassin begins to tremble, filled with childish fear. He’s old now, older than his father was when he was murdered. How can he know it’s safe to touch him? How can he know he won’t disappear the same way he has in his dreams for the past fifty years?

“It’s alright, son,” Giovanni reassures him. “Take my hand.”

Ezio holds his breath, willing himself to believe his words. Sure enough, the second their hands touch, the wrinkles on his hands disappear. Without questioning it, he knows that he is seventeen again, the same boy he was before he lost his family or knew anything about the Assassin or Templar Order.

 _“Hai fatto bene, figlio mio,”_ Giovanni says. _“Ora è il momento di andare a casa.”_

Ezio has lived the life he was meant to live, a life fraught with peril and sadness, but also joy. He he has fought for a noble cause, one that others will continue to fight and die for as long as men roam the earth. But, now it is time to move on. With that, he follows his friends and family, taking his first steps forward, into the blinding white light.

**Author's Note:**

> Giovanni's last line hopefully translates to: "You have done well, my son. Now it is time to go home." Someone can correct me if I'm wrong!


End file.
